


This is Love, This is Life

by Lupin111



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gap Filler, M/M, community: qaf_giftxchnge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupin111/pseuds/Lupin111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the QAF Gift Exchange 2015 on LJ.</p><p>TO: delvalmom</p><p>BETA: Xrifree</p><p>GIFT REQUEST: I'd like a gap filler set anytime during the cancer arc or right after. Some light angst, hurt/comfort for Brian, concerned Justin. Maybe some reactions from characters we didn't see on the show, but it can also just be Brian/Justin centric. Romance and humor welcome too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Love, This is Life

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was difficult to write, because I can't restrict myself to light angst when it comes to the cancer arc. So I'm giving you hurt/comfort for Brian, concerned Justin and a reasonable dose of angst – I hope this is close to what you had in mind and that you like it. I'm not too happy with the end product, so I hope you can forgive me!
> 
> This fic is a gapfiller series set between S4E9 and S4E12 (because a 4600 word fic cannot conceivably be a gapfiller for just one episode).
> 
> The title comes from a Bon Jovi song of the same name.
> 
> Have a wonderful Christmas, and all the very, very best for 2016!

" _Fuck._ "

Brian was in bed, but Justin heard him all the way to the dining room table, where he was trying to catch up on the class that he had missed.

"Brian? What's wrong? Do you need anything?"

"Can you get me my pills? I fucking can't. It hurts too much."

Justin quickly went to the medicine cabinet, and got the bottle of T4s, together with a glass of water.

"What the fuck is this?" Brian asked, staring at the bottle.

"Brian, you just asked me for your meds," Justin responded, confused.

"Not the T4s. That's not going to do anything for me. Where's the oxycodone?" Brian winced, obviously in a considerable amount of pain, and Justin felt bad for not being able to give him what he wanted.

"You don't have any."

"Of course I do. Can you fucking look? I got it yesterday. Jesus fuck!" Brian curled up into a ball, and Justin felt like a moron.

He kissed Brian near his ear, and quickly went to look for the oxycodone. After looking the whole house over, Justin couldn't find it. He could hear Brian cursing and groaning alternately, and he felt bile rising up in panic. Short on ideas of where the pills could be and loathe to disturb Brian, he found Brian's discarded clothes from yesterday, and he started checking the pockets.

"Brian…I found the prescription. You didn't get it filled yesterday," Justin said quietly.

" _FUCK!"_

He looked at the clock and realised that it was ten forty five in the evening. He couldn't think of a single pharmacy that was going to be open at this hour. "Look, why don't you take the T4 now, and we'll get this filled first thing tomorrow morning?" Justin said soothingly.

"I don't fucking _want_ the T4s. They don't do shit. Fuck." Brian breathed in deeply. He tried to sit up, but it seemed to be too much work because Brian gave up and curled back into a ball. "Call Anita."

"What?"

"Jesus, are you deaf? Fucking call Anita. She'll have some oxycodone. Get some money from my wallet."

Justin thought it was a tremendously bad idea to be giving drugs procured from Anita to Brian right now. Recovering from cancer, surgery and radiation was not a time to be hoping that Anita gave you the real deal. He was also not about to argue with Brian right now.

"Ok, don't worry. I'll get you the pills soon." Justin kissed Brian, and got dressed as quietly and quickly as possible, prescription and Brian's wallet in hand.

Once outside, he called Michael, to find out from Ben whether any pharmacy was open at this time of the night. There were a few, but they were too far. Michael offered to come over, but Justin knew that Brian would be spitting mad if Michael or Ben were to walk in when he was in that much pain, so he assured Michael that he'd handle it.

Out of any useful ideas, Justin hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to the closest hospital. He knew it would be as busy as hell, but he also knew that hospitals had pharmacies that were open all night.

 

* * *

 

Deep in the night when Brian was fast asleep, Justin lay awake, too tired to sleep. He almost wished that he didn't know. That he hadn't heard the voicemail from Dr. Rabinowitz.

He regretted the thought as soon as it formed. They had never taken any vows, but they had a commitment. A person didn't have to take vows to stand by 'in sickness and in health'. And he had made a commitment, just like he had told Brian.

What Justin also wished for, was that Michael had kept his big mouth shut and not told Brian that they knew. _That_ would have made life so much easier. He would have been able to take care of Brian without Brian being such a hard-ass.

Though, it would have been harder on Brian to constantly hide his pain.

At the end of the day, Justin came to the same conclusion that this was the best outcome. No one had to hide, there were no secrets, and he was able to look after Brian.

But with Brian, it was undeniably hard.

A difficult person at the best of times, Brian was downright impossible when sick. He was fussy, short-tempered, and impossible to please. He tried to work when he shouldn't, exhausted himself unnecessarily, and listened to no one. Namely, he didn't listen to Justin, Ted or Michael – the only people who knew.

And it was a struggle to try and manage him between PIFA, the diner, and Brian's own intransigence.

Today had been a perfect example. Justin had asked Brian to stay at home and get some rest, because he had had therapy the day before. As thanks for his suggestion, he got screamed at by Brian for fussing, who insisted that he was fine. At noon, Ted had called him to say that Brian had passed out in his office and that Ted was sending him home. Justin had had to leave his class half way through and rush home to make sure Brian was okay. And on top of a very difficult afternoon, he was sent chasing medication in the dead of the night.

If Brian had just listened to him in the first place.

"Urghkkhhh…"

"Brian?"

Justin felt Brian groaning, and he threw the bedsheet on to Justin, slowly sitting up in bed.

"Are you ok? Shall I get you some water?"

Brian mumbled "I don't need fucking water."

Justin sat up, slowly rubbing Brian's back, and Brian placed his forehead on Justin's shoulder. They stayed like that silently for a few minutes, and Justin hoped that Brian could be eased into going back to sleep.

"I think I'm going to throw up."

Justin braced himself. "Ok, come, let's go to the bathroom." Justin had kept a wastepaper bucket near the bed for precisely this reason, but Brian had put it away, complaining that he was tripping over it, which was not really an exaggeration.

Now they both hobbled over to the bathroom instead, and Brian doubled over while Justin continued to rub his back and hold his forehead. He didn't even know why people held somebody's forehead when people threw up – he just remembered his mother doing it while he was young, so he did the same thing. Distracted, he wondered if Brian would ask him why he was doing that.

Brian was dry heaving, and Justin felt utterly out of his depth. What was he supposed to do?

After a while, Brian was still, and Justin thought that he'd wait a few more minutes before guiding Brian back into bed.

"Where's the water?"

"Huh?"

"The water," Brian repeated, the strain in his voice evident. "You were going to get water."

_Fuck._

"Let me help you into bed, and I'll get you the water, ok?"

"I can't sleep anymore. Let's go to the couch."

So they made their way to the couch instead, and since Brian didn't stop by the kitchen for water, Justin went to get him a glass. When he returned, Brian had switched on the television.

"I'm kind of hungry. Do we have anything?"

"There's some soup left, I can heat that up…"

"I'm sick of fucking chicken soup."

"Toast, then?" Justin wasn't sure what he was supposed to cook up for a man who was dry heaving less than fifteen minutes ago.

"Tastes like cardboard."

"I think we have some crackers…or I can quickly make some pasta…"

Brian was silent for a minute. "I suppose I'll have a slice of toast for now. Make sure you don't burn it. Which movie do you want to watch?"

Justin swallowed his sigh. Apparently, no one was going to be sleeping anytime soon. He was fucking exhausted. "I'm okay with anything you want."

"You don't have any plans tomorrow, do you? I think I'm going to stay at home." Brian called out to him.

"That's great. I'm free the whole day." In fact, he would have to cancel his shift and miss two classes, but that was preferable to the alternative.

 

* * *

 

"Justin, do you have any smokes on you?"

"No, sorry, I left mine at the diner…" Justin didn't bother looking up; he was just finishing the roast chicken that he was hoping that Brian would be in the mood to eat; the man hadn't been eating anything decent. Nevertheless, Justin kept trying. When they had visited the doctor three days ago – Justin had insisted on tagging along – he had told Brian to try and eat and build up his strength.

"Goddamn it. Naturally, we don't have single extra pack left at home. Didn't I ask you to pick some up yesterday?"

"No you didn't."

"I'm pretty fucking sure I did. I'm not going to wait till my last fucking cigarette is done to buy a new pack."

"Brian, with all due respect, I picked up groceries, the dry cleaning, your meds, dropped off the panels for Rage, finished my assignment, and made dinner. Forgive me if I forgot the damn cigarettes, _which you never asked for_. Anyway, it'll do both of us good to lay off the cigarettes for a while."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Justin sighed audibly, even though he knew it would further annoy Brian.

"That means that you had cancer, not the common cold. Cutting down on carcinogens – like cigarettes – is not such a bad thing."

"So I'm fucking dying now, am I? I _knew_ that telling you would lead to precisely this kind of drama."

"First of all, you _didn't_ tell me; I had to find out on my own. Second of all, I'm not being dramatic. Didn't the doctor to tell you ease off the cigarettes, at least for the next few months? I'm pretty sure he did."

"Fuck him. And fuck you."

Justin saw Brian putting on his coat, clearly intending to go out.

"Brian, I _just_ finished making dinner. Why don't you eat before you go out? Please don't tell me you're going out right now for those damn cigarettes."

"Fine, I won't. I'll get myself something to eat. Don't bother waiting up."

"Brian! Seriously? Stop acting like a child."

It was too late; Brian walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Justin had a feeling that the 'fight' would have escalated further, if not for Michael.

When Brian returned home an hour after he had stormed out, with Michael, Justin had already thrown the entire chicken into the trash, and finished the small pizza he had ordered for himself.

Brian was clearly not happy, and Justin was too annoyed to grovel and get back into Brian's good books. The whole thing was so stupid. It was a fucking cigarette. No rational person could begin to put a pack of cigarettes and recovering from cancer in the same league. Even if Brian had been living under a rock for the last ten years (which he had definitely _not_ been), the doctor had clearly told him to lay off smoking. Why did Justin have to be like some hall monitor, reminding Brian of everything, big and small, what to do and not to do? And why the fuck did Brian have to get so angry? It wasn't as if Justin took some perverse pleasure in restricting Brian's means of pleasure.

Nevertheless, Justin felt bad when he found out from Michael that the packet of cigarettes had, in fact, not been purchased. He found that out too late to retrieve the chicken though, and sushi had to be ordered for Brian and Michael.

None of this helped Brian's foul mood; he sulked through the better part of his dinner, and went to bed early, leaving Michael to commiserate with Justin.

 

* * *

 

"What's wrong? You're not hungry?"

Brian had been moving the food on his plate from one side to another for a while now.

Another night, another dinner, another disaster, Justin told himself.

"It tastes like cardboard," Brian said.

So much for making home-cooked meals, Justin thought. "Shall I order Thai for you?"

Brian shrugged. "Never mind."

"You need to eat something…otherwise, you're going to be hungry in a few hours."

"I don't want fucking Thai."

Justin wanted to sigh, but he didn't. It would either piss off Brian, or make him feel bad, and neither were options Justin wanted to see through. He wanted one day where Brian was happy with what was given to him, without this incessant complaining. It would do wonders for his self-esteem, give him time to rest a little, and perhaps Brian himself would feel better. However, that was clearly not to be. Brian was in pain, he was not himself, _and_ he was a terrible patient. There was nothing anyone could do about any of it, except hope that he'd feel better soon.

"How about I make you a chicken salad then?"

Brian seemed mollified at the thought. "Yeah, I think I could eat that."

Justin stood up immediately.

"Finish eating your own dinner first," Brian commented.

Justin looked down at his own half-eaten plate, then at Brian. By the time he finished eating, and then made a salad, Brian would probably be half asleep. "Meh, it's ok. I didn't like it much either," he lied. He'd just make salad enough for two. For better or for worse, they were in this together.

However, there were times – quite frequently these days – that Justin wished Brian would realize that. Unbeknown to Justin, Brian had gone off and told Debbie that he had cancer. Now, on top of everything else, he had to deal with incessant calls from Debbie, asking how Brian was, giving unsolicited advice on what to do and what to cook and how to make Brian feel better. It annoyed the ever loving shit out of Justin. The only person he was able to put up with these days without snapping their head off was Michael and his mother.

Brian moved to the couch, his favourite resting spot of late. "You have class tomorrow, don't you?"

Justin realised instantly that Brian would rather that he didn't. However, even Brian seemed to recall his schedule for the day now, and Justin didn't want to get caught in a lie. Also, this was his chance to get out of the house and get some of his own work done. "I have a class at noon. And I thought I'd get a start on some Christmas shopping after that."

"What Christmas shopping?"

"Brian, Christmas is round the corner. We have to get shit for people. My mom. Molly. Michael. Debbie." _You._

"Lindsay wants to bring Gus over tomorrow afternoon. I thought it would be nice if you joined. After your class."

Justin heard what Brian was not saying. Gus would want to play, run around, and it would be easier for Brian if Justin was around to share the load. But Christmas _was_ coming up, and if they continued at this rate, not one person would be getting gifts this year. Justin sighed. There was only one right option.

Brian continued to speak. "Come here after you're done with that. Make a list and we'll send it to Cynthia. She'll get everything for everyone."

Justin's shoulders sagged, and it was a good thing that Brian couldn't see him, or they'd both end up feeling bad. He had wanted to buy gifts himself; it was more personal and meaningful that way. This really wasn't how he envisioned the season turning out, but there was nothing to be done about it now, and Justin felt guilty about whining to himself about such petty things when Brian had just dodged a major bullet.

"That's a fabulous idea. Neither of us will have to brave Christmas crowds this way…"

That much was true.

"Don't bother getting anything for me," Brian intoned.

"Uh huh." Likely, he'd have to ask Cynthia to get Brian something on his behalf; Justin hadn't even thought of what to get Brian, and he doubted that he'd have time to think or shop, if Brian kept monopolizing his time like this. While making the salad, Justin let his mind wander a bit, trying to think of a nice gift idea for Brian. He was so lost in thought that he missed what Brian said, as he brought the salad to Brian. "What did you say?"

Brian was silent for a few seconds. "I haven't seen Vic for a while. You know. In…when…"

Instinctively, Justin squeezed Brian's shoulder. Brian had told him, in bits and pieces, about the visions - nightmares, really – that he saw of Vic, at various stages through this cancer ordeal.

"Brian…don't punish yourself."

"Believe me, it's no punishment. It's a fucking relief to not see him anymore."

Justin wrapped a throw around Brian, keeping it loose enough for him to be able to move his hands to eat.

"You were punishing yourself by seeing him like that. Subconsciously. Unconsciously. The only male parent…parent-like figure you ever had. Judging you for being sick, because you think you should be punished. Because of what your dad said. Because you think you deserve bad things and not good things. Is the salad okay?"

Brian nodded. "It's good. Do we have bread? Could I have some toast with this?"

Justin bit the inside of his cheek. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Brian that he could have asked for toast when Justin was making the damn salad. He was loathe to get up now, but he gamely nodded, making his way to the toaster.

"Since when did you become a shrink?"

Justin was almost surprised that Brian went back to the earlier conversation. He shrugged, then realized that Brian's back was to him. "I love analysing you; that's why I was such a fabulous stalker," he said lightly.

"The old man died of this; you yourself said I smoke like a chimney –"

"That's _not_ what I said."

"Whatever. I had this coming, in a way. Vic was probably laughing at me for not seeing that."

Justin weighed his options, and decided to remain silent until the toast was done. He then went and sat back down next to Brian.

"Brian, listen to me. Vic was not real. That was a figment of your imagination, taking all the terrible things from this ordeal, taking all your fears, and giving voice to it. Nobody deserves cancer; nobody has it coming. _You_ don't deserve it, and you didn't have it coming and there's nothing you could have done to change things. That's not how testicular cancer works."

"Yes, doctor." Brian's response was sarcastic, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, which was encouraging.

"Vic loved you, and if he was here, he'd be cheering on your recovery, not saying the dickish things your imagination came up with."

Brian didn't comment, but he ate his second meal quietly, so Justin assumed that both the food and the conversation had made him feel better. Justin wrote the Christmas shopping list for Cynthia; Brian would have little to contribute to it, and he could make whatever changes he wanted after Justin was done.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Brian asked.

Justin wanted to say no. What he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for eleven hours. However, he chose to shrug instead. "I'm good for whatever you want to do. What do you want to watch?"

"Do you want to read?"

Justin stared at him. "Me?"

"My eyes hurt."

"So you want me to read to you?"

"It's fine. You don't have to."

Justin knew he should have contained his surprise. "No, no, I'd love to. Just…I don't think you'd like what I'm reading. What do you want me to read to you?"

"Whatever you're reading is fine. What is it?"

"The Scarlett Letter."

" _That's_ what you're reading?"

"It's a book for people like us, Brian. A book that says sex is ok. All kinds of sex is ok, and that those who judge sex are the ones who deserve to be scorned and judged. But, I'll read whatever you prefer."

"Hawthorne is fine. Let's move to the bed first, though."

 

* * *

 

To say that they were both tired would be an understatement. Lindsay and Gus had left hours ago, and Brian had gone to bed to lie down for a while because he was tired. Justin knew that he should be studying, or catching up on his readings for class, but he was tired as well. So he left his assignment half-done, and went to join Brian in bed.

He had insisted that Brian get some rest, even though Brian was looking better and had more energy these days. Nevertheless, even Brian had been malleable to the request. Probably because Brian used his new-found energy catching up on missed work, and was thus exhausted at the end of the day, whichever way you cut it.

Justin laid down, putting his head on Brian's chest. Soon, it would be Christmas and they'd both be able to get a much-needed break. Hopefully. If some other shit didn't come up between now and then – such was their luck.

Completely out of the blue, Justin remembered his conversation with Daphne after his first night with Brian… _I've seen the face of god…_

And to this day, that statement held true. Brian often didn't speak; he certainly didn't ask Justin to take care of him through his recovery, though, after the initial hurdle, he seemed to expect it. But that was the point, wasn't it? They were partners. They didn't have to speak, didn't have to ask for it. Whatever they gave, they gave from the heart, with a smile.

Brian was the light, and often, he was also the darkness, and sometimes, he was like a stranger.

And yet.

Brian could be mean and petty and difficult, and it was okay, because at the end of the Justin would be all right, and it would be him that Brian turned to.

He still saw god in Brian, in this relationship, and he didn't know much else, but for all his internal whining, he was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing what he was meant to be doing.

Weeks later, Justin thought that they both handled the last round of radiation much better. Brian didn't overestimate what he was able to handle, and Justin himself was ready. He cancelled his shifts at the diner, asked classmates to help out with notes for the classes he knew he'd miss and told his professors the truth about why he was busy.

It was still exhausting, and tiring, and frustrating. Brian was still difficult and moody and unpredictable. Justin was still left with no time to do much, and even had to ask Cynthia to buy a Christmas gift for Brian. But they were prepared and ready, and made it through.

 

* * *

 

"What plans have you made for Christmas?"

Justin looked up at Brian, surprised. Christmas was less than five days away, but he was still surprised that Brian was bringing it up at all. "Nothing at all, to be honest. I figure we'll all have to troop to Debbie's for dinner, and mom would love it we came for lunch or something. And then…I dunno. I'm just cool if both of us are able to find time to be together and rest and chill out."

"You don't sound too keen on the dinner and the lunch and whatnot," Brian stated, sitting down on the couch beside Justin.

"Honestly, this year, I'm not. The whole thing is beginning to sound like way too much work. But if you want to do all that, then I'm totally game." Justin was a bit surprised, but damned if he wasn't going to do whatever he was expected to.

Brian sniggered. "I thought _you_ would want to do all that, and I'd have a harder time convincing you to do something else."

Justin furrowed his brows, looking at Brian. "You want to do something else? What?"

"Well…there was that trip to Ibiza a few months ago that…we both missed."

Justin stared at Brian stupidly. "You want to go to Ibiza?"

"It's winter in Ibiza," Brian stated, placing a long envelope in Justin's hands. "This is your Christmas present."

"Brian, it's a bit early for Christmas presents – are you sure you want me to open this now?" Justin was already beginning to grin.

"If I didn't want you to open it, I wouldn't have given it to you."

Justin eagerly – and yet, carefully – opened the envelope. "Oh my fucking god! Brian! It's two tickets to Rio! For us! For Christmas, seriously?"

"Well, it's for _you_ , plus one. Whoever you want to take. Daphne, or your mom, or…"

Justin burst out laughing, and then gave Brian a bone-crushing hug, kissing him in between. "You idiot, of course I want to go with you! Thank you! Thank you so much! It's going to be amazing! Thank you!"

"Hey, whoa, easy there," Brian said, but he was also smiling. "You've been working yourself to the bone, taking care of sick people. A sick _person_. I figured that you deserved a vacation."

Justin looked at Brian, deadly serious. "There's nothing else I'd rather have done."

"Well, if we hurry up and pack now, we're going to be able to do one more thing I want to get done before heading to the airport."

Justin snaked his arms around Brian's waist. "There's _always_ time for that…packing or no packing."

"Oh Sunshine, with your one track mind. We have to drop by Melanie's. I have to sign some papers."

"Papers? At Melanie's? Now? What's going on?" Justin couldn't fathom what papers Brian had to sign.

"I asked her to draw up a Health Care Proxy for me. Given events of the last few months, I think it's prudent I have one."

"Brian, stop it. You're fine now. You're not going to die."

"No, but I might fall sick again, and upon further reflection, I don't want it to quite play out like this. And, Justin, anything could happen to any of us. We could get hit by a car. Or…whatever. I want to be ready, and if I'm ever incapable of making or carrying out my own medical choices, I don't want some…it should be you making that decision. I want it to be you."

Justin could only stare at Brian, overwhelmed by everything he was feeling in that moment. He willed his tears to not fall.

Brian kissed him gently. "If you'll agree."

Justin's resolve broke then, because he could feel a single tear roll down his cheek. "Yes. Of course... _of course_."

"Good. Good." Brian kissed him again, this time on his forehead. "Come on. We have a lawyer to meet and a plane to catch."

 

**THE END**

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

 

This story archived at <http://www.midnightwhispers.ca/viewstory.php?sid=3472>


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